


Kissing Doesn't Last; Cooking Does

by soupdujour



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Get Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Strangers to Lovers, cooking class au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 09:35:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10964535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soupdujour/pseuds/soupdujour
Summary: An AU where Jack still plays for the Falconers but he and Bitty never met at Samwell. Bitty, whose oven broke in his tiny Providence apartment, ends up taking a cooking class that Jack also happens to be taking. Let the pining ensue.





	Kissing Doesn't Last; Cooking Does

“No, no, no, Betsy don’t do this to me,” Bitty cried out in exasperation, stroking the buttons on his oven. Betsy, a white apartment-sized oven that came with Bitty’s rental in Providence, had finally baked her last pie. Granted, the amount of baking Bitty had done over his first six months in Providence heavily outweighed Betsy’s entire past, so it didn’t come as a complete shock to him when her buttons became unresponsive and she downright refused to warm up even a touch.

Still, he wasn’t entirely sure what he was possibly going to do now. Since making the decision to move to Providence after graduating from Samwell, Bitty found himself baking more than ever before – which certainly was saying a lot. With his friends scattered across the country, and his family back home in Georgia, Bitty found baking to be a productive and familiar way to pass the time. Whenever he was a little homesick, or wanted to be with his friends, or just wanted some company to fill the solitude of living on his own, the scent of apples and cinnamon was like a warm hug on a cold day. The act of rolling out dough and preparing a lattice crust kept his fingers (and his mind) occupied, away from scary thoughts like how alone he was or where on earth he would start looking for a full-time job.

So when Betsy stopped functioning, so did Bitty. Not only was she his best friend in Providence so far, but she was also his only confidante here. Whenever Bitty had a bad day, or was feeling particularly lonely, or just wanted to have a conversation with someone – well, Betsy would do just fine. It wasn’t the same without the familiar sound of her buttons registering his touch, and without the ominous clicking noise she made whenever she’d start heating up – which, now that Bitty came to think about it, should have been his first warning.

He sat on the floor of his kitchen, the sunset glaring in through a small window above the sink. The tiling on the floor, plain beige, was cold against his legs, and the scent of apple filling wafted lazily over in the summer air from the uncooked pie on the counter. Bitty leaned his back against the refrigerator door, which was white, once, but was now covered in so many photos of Bitty’s family and friends that not even a square inch was visible.

“No sense letting a good pie go to waste,” Bitty sighed, propping himself up on his feet.

He had never met any of his neighbours, but he figured now was as good a time as any. Besides, he said to himself, he didn’t exactly have a very intimidating face. On most days he hated his naturally innocent features, but today he was thankful for them. He was going to need all the help he could get if he wanted to convince a total stranger to let him bake a pie in their oven.

Bitty soon found himself outside the door of his neighbour across the hall, who he sometimes heard come in and out but never actually saw. He took a deep breath, put on his widest southern grin, and knocked firmly three times.

He heard some shuffling from behind the door, and what he assumed was the apartment’s resident peering out from behind the peep-hole, before the door swung open.

Bitty was greeted – thankfully – by someone almost as short as he was. She had sharp, brown eyes, an asymmetric bob that gave her an angular look, and she wore a Harvard Law sweater that was about three sizes too big for her.

“Hello?” she asked, in a voice that was not unfriendly, but certainly confused at finding the blonde stranger in front of her.

“Uh – hi there! My name’s Bitty, I live across the hall and Betsy seems to have broken down but I’ve got this unbaked pie and I was wondering if I could borrow yours?” Bitty said in one breath, gesturing to the pie dish in his hands.

Bitty’s neighbour paused, looked him up and down, and replied with a confused chuckle.

“Who’s Betsy, exactly?”

“Oh goodness gracious – Betsy’s what I call my oven. I’d like to borrow your oven – if that’s okay. Otherwise this pie’ll go to waste and that’s just a shame. We can even share it – if you like apple pie, that is.” Bitty answered, feeling himself blushing and unable to stop it.

“Oh! Sure thing, man. Love me some pie. The name’s Larissa, by the way, but everyone calls me Lardo,” she said, turning into her apartment and motioning for Bitty to follow her.

She quickly disappeared down a hallway lined with prints of all sizes – some were abstract, some were colourful, some were large and some were smaller than Bitty’s hand. What they all had in common was a small signature in the bottom right corner, from which Bitty gathered Lardo had painted all of them herself.

Her kitchen was as colourful as the hallway that led into it. The lime green fridge was the kind of retro one you’d find in a vintage store, and it clashed wonderfully against the kitchen’s yellow walls. Bitty’s eyes eventually fell on the blue stove tucked away in a corner of the kitchen, and the poor thing looked like it hadn’t been used in quite some time.

“So that’s my oven – it hasn’t got a name or a gender, but I’m happy to christen it tonight, if you’d like. I don’t use it very often,” Lardo offered, leaning against the doorframe and gesturing towards the oven.

“I can tell,” Bitty chuckled, running his hand over the oven’s control panel and finding a thin layer of dust.

“I really fulfill the starving artist stereotype,” Lardo laughed in response. “I starve until I spring for delivery, and then I starve again until I order delivery again. It’s a vicious cycle.”

“You’ll do just fine, honey,” Bitty cooed, and it took Lardo a moment to realize that he was talking to the stove and not to her.

“So what’ll you do until your stove is fixed?” Lardo asked.

“Oh lord I hadn’t even thought about that yet,” Bitty sighed, turning to look at Lardo. “Gary’s a great maintenance guy and all, but getting him to do anything…”

“Takes about several years,” Lardo finished.

“My thoughts exactly.”

“I teach a cooking class down at the community centre if you wanted to drop by. You’re welcome to use our stove – you don’t even have to cook what I’m teaching,” Lardo offered with a smile.

Bitty replied with a smile, but his eyes flicked from Lardo’s gaze to the unused oven in the corner, at which Lardo laughed.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she giggled. “This girl? Teach cooking? The one who doesn’t use her stove?”

Bitty laughed uncomfortably and blushed in response.

“Just a bit.”

“It’s a class for struggling college students,” Lardo answered with a friendly chuckle. “To teach them how to stretch a dollar – the kind of stuff I used to feed myself off of in college, before I could afford round-the-clock delivery.”

“Ah, that makes a lot more sense,” Bitty said through a smile.

“I figured it would,” Lardo responded.

The two of them got to know each other while the pie baked and filled Lardo’s art-filled apartment with the delicious, familiar scent of an apple pie baking.

“Holy shit, dude,” Lardo exclaimed mid-conversation. “This place smells like a candle.”

Bitty took that as a compliment and smiled. They ended up sharing the entire pie over several cups of coffee and the best herbal tea Bitty had ever tasted. They bonded over their vastly different college experiences, life in Providence, and Gary’s total and utter uselessness. The evening ran into night rather quickly and it was well after midnight before Bitty left Lardo’s apartment.

“See you in class this Wednesday, Bitty?” Lardo asked as she opened the front door.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Lardo,” Bitty answered through a sleepy smile. “I’m in desperate need of a functioning oven.”

 

* * *

 

 

_“Have you been eating well, honey?” Alicia’s voice sounded tinny through the speakers of Jack’s laptop._

_“Yes, maman,” Jack answered with a smile._

_“What did you have for dinner tonight?” Alicia probed, a caring smile in her eyes._

_“A chicken breast, for protein, and some green beans… because they were in my fridge,” Jack answered, realizing his mistake too late._

_“Oh honey,” Alicia answered, a worried look in her eyes. “I’m really going to get you those cooking lessons I saw. You absolutely need them.”_

_“No, maman, seriously – it’s fine, I’m following the diet prescribed by my dieticians,” Jack said, a pleading tone in his voice. He wasn’t averse to the idea of the cooking lessons themselves, but it was the question of being around other people, that many people in the same room, making small talk before and after class, having to make friends – even the thought gave him a queasy sensation in his stomach._

_“No questions, Jack. Bob! Get me my credit card,” Alicia shouted somewhere off screen._

_“Maman, honestly, I’m fine –”_

_“There. Done,” Alicia said with a tone of finality._

_Jack was about to protest again when he was interrupted by the sound of his email inbox. He clicked out of the Skype conversation with his mother and checked his inbox. The message contained, as expected, a coupon for eight weeks of cooking lessons at the Providence Community Centre taught by someone named Larissa Duan. She had a friendly enough face, if a bit intimidating, and Jack resigned himself to the fact that he would have to do this, or else not hear the end of it._

_“Thanks, Maman,” Jack sighed._

_“Anytime, sweetie. And I want weekly updates! Send me pictures of what you make!” Alicia exclaimed, excitement in her eyes._

_Jack would sit through as many cooking classes as it would take to stop his mom from worrying about him._

 

* * *

 

 

Wednesday rolled around and Bitty found himself in front of Lardo’s door, ready for his first cooking lesson and reveling in the opportunity to bake again. He didn’t realize how much he needed pie in his life until the possibility of baking was viciously taken away from him. He still hadn’t entirely gotten over Betsy’s passing and was getting a bit misty-eyed when Lardo opened the door.

“Hey Bitty, sorry to keep you waiting. Shall we?” Lardo asked, greeting Bitty with a warm smile and the scent of lavender perfume.

“Absolutely! I’m just so excited to be able to bake again, Lord I’ve missed it so much and I really find that when I get lonely I just turn to bakin’ and I haven’t been able to do that so I’ve been watching the Food Network a lot lately which is kind of nice but isn’t really the same thing and –”

“Bitty, that’s great, but can we talk on the way to the community centre? I’m going to be late and I’m the teacher – not so good,” Lardo interrupted with a sly grin on her face.

Bitty blushed in response and nodded solemnly. They walked the two blocks from their apartment building to the Providence Community Centre, and walked through a series of labyrinthine fluorescent-lit hallways until they reached room 3B, a label beside the door indicating that it was the cooking classroom.

“Here we are!” Lardo exclaimed, opening the door and walking towards the front desk.

They had gotten there early enough to be the first arrivals, and Lardo gestured to the first row of cooking stations.

“You can take over any of these and bake to your heart’s content. I’m going to teach them how to make a pack of instant ramen taste like a Michelin-star meal with just a few dollars and some ingenuity, but you can make whatever you like,” Lardo said while rummaging through her desk. “You’ll find ingredients over there,” she said as she pointed to a pantry in the corner of the class, “and there’s nobody in here after us so you don’t have to worry about your baking time going over class time.”

“That’s great – thanks so much, Lardo!” Bitty exclaimed, already itching to get a rolling pin in his hands.

Bitty was in the middle of preparing the filling for his apple pie when the first group of students started strolling in. They looked like college students for the most part – young, excited, full of energy and, most importantly, hungry. Bitty’s heart sank just an inch when he realized that almost half the class were couples attending together, and realized for the first time in a while how single he was. Best to put those thoughts away, he thought, thankful for the pie in front of him.

He glanced over at the front door, greeting each new entrant with a polite smile. They mostly stared back with curiosity at the blonde stranger baking a pie when the syllabus clearly stated they were making ramen – but none of them looked too bothered. He had his eyes absentmindedly fixed on the door while basking in the familiar sensation of pliant dough under his fingers, when the next person strolled through the front door.

Bitty’s breath hitched when he saw the next student walk through the door – alone, he noticed, against his better judgment – and he found himself suddenly unable to weave the lattice crust together, his nimble fingers turned, inexplicably, to jelly. The student was easily a few years older than the rest of the class, and surveyed his surroundings with icy blue eyes that Bitty stared at for a moment too long. He wore a checkered flannel that strained ever so slightly against his large shoulders, and the muscles in his arms shifted as he slung a backpack down from his arm. Bitty’s gaze traveled down his front, following the shirt as it disappeared, tucked into a pair of dark denim jeans that were clearly a size too small around the hips, and as the student turned to greet Lardo, Bitty’s mouth went dry at the sight of the most perfectly formed behind he’d ever seen. He quickly forced his gaze back up to the student’s head, pushing out all un-gentlemanly thoughts from his mind, and found himself lost in a sea of angular cheekbones, a strong jawline, and short, messy, brown hair. The student must have felt Bitty staring, and turned his eyes to meet Bitty’s, at which Bitty’s cheeks flushed down to his neck, and he quickly averted his gaze back down to the half-formed pie crust now lying uselessly at his fingertips.

Bitty felt the stranger’s gaze trained on him, and, for some reason, he seemed to be getting closer. Bitty craned his neck towards the back of the class and realized, with a pang, that all the other work stations were full, and he and mister-tall-and-handsome would be stuck next to each other all class. Finally, the stranger reached the station next to Bitty’s and started unpacking his bag, extracting what looked like a notebook and several variations of the same highlighter, along with pens, pencils, and an eraser. Bitty smiled to himself as he realized that this perfect specimen of a man actually intended to take notes during class.

“Alright everyone!” Lardo said from the front of the class, her large voice at odds with her tiny frame. “If you could all take out the package of green onions from the fridge below your tables, we’ll get this show on the road.”

The class settled into a flurry of activity around him, and Bitty lost himself in the familiar motions of making dough, then filling, then assembling. Between weaving lattice and slicing apples, he managed to sneak a few glances over to the station next to him, and saw the tall stranger focused on the task at hand with such intensity that Bitty felt himself shrink down a little, even at his own table. Bitty had never seen someone so focused on chopping onions, or stirring broth, or even unwrapping butter. Luckily enough he gave his work such undivided attention that Bitty’s not infrequent glances went by mostly unnoticed. Or at least, that’s what Bitty told himself. Occasionally, Bitty thought he caught the stranger’s eyes glancing back down to his table, just as Bitty was looking over – but he was surely mistaken.

Bitty spent the rest of class in a daze, lulled by the familiar smell of apple pie, the sound of a dozen hungry college students excitedly trying their hand at cooking, and the intense presence of the man next to him.

 

* * *

 

 

_“So, honey, how was your first class?” Alicia’s voice rang through the speakers of Jack’s laptop._

_“It was, euh, you know, we cooked… food,” Jack deadpanned. He hoped that his blush wouldn’t show through his laptop’s camera._

_Alicia gave him a knowing smile in return, which only made Jack blush harder._

_“That’s good, sweetheart. Did you… see anything you liked?” she asked, leaving space for Jack to either open up or pretend like she hadn’t caught on to anything._

_“There was a really nice looking… apple pie,” Jack said thoughtfully._

_“That’s wonderful, honey,” Alicia responded with a slightly bemused grin. Jack’s blush deepened, and he decided to end the call before he let too much on._

_“Okay maman – I’ve gotta get going to the arena. Talk tomorrow?”_

_“Sure thing. Oh – hold on honey, your dad would like to say hi to you.”_

_Jack groaned, knowing exactly what was coming._

_“Hi Jack!” Bob shouted as his head materialized from somewhere behind his wife. He wore an apron and held a celery stalk in one hand and a knife in the other, which he waved animatedly as he spoke. Alicia eyed it apprehensively._

_“Just wanted to say that once upon a time I found an apple pie that made me stutter and blush like that – and now, a quarter of a century later, I’m cooking dinner for her!” He finished his sentence with a flourish, pleased with himself, and nearly dropped the stalk of celery._

_“Good-BYE you two,” Jack all but shouted as his blush reached a critical intensity._

_He shut the lid of his laptop with a satisfying clack, and looked around his apartment in dismay. He had seen the blonde stranger once, and had rushed out of class so quickly that he didn’t even get his name. But still, it had been a week, and Jack couldn’t get the apple pie – or, if he was being honest with himself, the man who baked it – out of his head. Which was ridiculous. Jack was a professional athlete for the NHL, and after everything that had already happened, he wasn’t going to risk his entire career over a stranger from a cooking class his mother had practically forced him to take._

_Still, there were eight weeks of class left, and Jack settled on hoping for the best._

 

* * *

 

 

“Betsy! Oh thank heavens, you’re all bright and shiny and back to normal again!” Bitty exclaimed, caressing the oven in front of him and momentarily forgetting the handyman’s presence, who stared at Bitty with a bemused smile on his face.

“Oh – thanks, Gary. You’ve made me the happiest boy in the whole building!”

Gary, sensing that a hug was on its way, quickly made his way to Bitty’s front door.

“Was nothing, Eric. Happy to help.”

He put his shoes on at an alarming pace, opened the door, and nearly bumped into Lardo who was standing just outside.

“Sorry Larissa – busy day!” he muttered, walking towards the elevator.

“Lord, the things men do to avoid affection,” Bitty said with a roll of his eyes. “But look, Lardo, Betsy’s all better!”

“Happy to hear it, Bitty! It’ll be a shame not to see you in class anymore, though,” Lardo answered. “I’m amazed Gary got to it so quickly,” she added, thoughtful.

Bitty’s heart sank into his stomach as he realized that he no longer had a plausible excuse to attend Lardo’s cooking class, and wouldn’t get to ogle the tall stranger next to him anymore. Bitty had already fantasized about asking him for his number, or even, in some of his more elaborate daydreams, imagined what it would be like if the tall stranger asked Bitty for his own number, and maybe they went on a date to a nice restaurant, and maybe he took Bitty home afterwards, and maybe –

“Bitty? Earth to Bitty!” Lardo half-laughed, interrupting his daydream.

“Huh? What was that?” Bitty asked between blinks.

“I was just saying that, if you wanted, you could always come to the class anyways. You know, if you… saw something you liked,” Lardo finished with a smirk.

Bitty blushed a deep shade of red, fully aware that Lardo had seen him staring.

“You know, I may just take you up on that,” Bitty replied, already feeling his heart rate rising beneath his chest.

Bitty and Lardo fell into their routine quite easily, and baking during Lardo’s cooking class had become the highlight of Bitty’s week. Sure, it felt a little weird baking outside of his apartment at first, almost like he was cheating on Betsy, but Bitty made sure to bake extra pies on the weekend to make up for it. He was worried that, somehow, Betsy would sense that he had been baking elsewhere, and refuse to work for him all over again. Bitty realized this made no sense, especially when he had said this aloud to Lardo, but then again neither did taking a cooking class just to ogle at the tall stranger a table over.

 

* * *

 

 

_Eight weeks passed, it seemed to Jack, in the blink of an eye. Inevitably, the other Falcs found out where it was that he disappeared to every Wednesday evening, and the chirps about his cooking classes felt like they would never stop. Still, Jack had to admit, Larissa – or Lardo, as she asked them to call her – had taught him quite a few things about how to make boring old chicken just a tad more exciting. One class about five weeks in even focused entirely on chicken tenders, during which Jack found himself paying rapt attention._

_If Jack was being honest, though, the thing that really kept him coming back was the blonde from one table over, who never seemed to follow Lardo’s instructions and who baked what looked like the most amazing pies. Jack had intended to do something that vaguely resembled “making a move,” but even after an hour and a half spent on Google, had no idea how exactly to go about doing that. He had considered slipping the blonde a piece of paper with his phone number written on it, all suave like in movies, but had visions of the stranger crumpling up that paper and throwing it out, or laughing in Jack’s face, or ignoring the paper altogether._

_Jack’s head went through a similar line of questioning every Wednesday before class: what if he wasn’t interested? What if he thought Jack was weird? What if he already had a boyfriend? What if he wasn’t even gay? So that by the time Jack actually showed up to class, he was so discouraged he resigned himself to come up with a better plan and try again next week, fully aware that, eventually, he would run out of “next weeks.”_

_Now, as Jack walked along the tree-lined street from his apartment complex to the community centre, he realized that eight entire weeks had passed and he still didn’t know the stranger’s name. He knew the way his wide, doe-eyes looked when they were focused on weaving together intricate lattice, or the way the muscles in his forearms flexed as he was kneading dough, and even the way he stuck his tongue out of his mouth ever so slightly when working on a particularly complex crust design. Jack caught himself staring more than once, especially as the weather grew warmer in Providence and the stranger’s shorts became increasingly shorter with each class._

_As he pushed the door open to 3B, Jack was relieved to find that he was only the second person in class, and that the blonde stranger had not yet shown up. Then, Jack’s stomach plummeted as he wondered if the stranger wouldn’t show up at all this time, and that Jack blew his chance entirely._

_“Chance at what?” Jack muttered to himself under his breath as he sat at the stool behind his work station._

_He had his eyes fixed on the door, and, without having a plan in mind, resigned himself to do something – anything – about his situation by the end of class._

_The thought of interacting with any other human being normally set Jack on edge, and the thought of talking to the handsome baker from a table over made his teeth chatter and his foot tap anxiously against the floor. The whole thing was tinged with an air of absurdity, he thought to himself. This was the kind of stuff you find in sleazy drugstore romance novels, not real life. He was a professional hockey player, and the stranger was, was…_

_Was walking through the door, smiling and laughing, in the middle of a pleasant conversation with Lardo._

_Jack realized, for the eighth time in eight straight weeks, how absolutely screwed he was._

 

* * *

 

 

“You want me to what?” Lardo asked, a smirk on her face as she and Bitty walked through the revolving doors into the community center.

“C’mon, Lardo, you heard me. Just pretend like I said something real funny,” Bitty pleaded, “only as we’re walking through the door, in case he’s looking.”

“Ohh,” Lardo crooned, “you mean Mr. Tall-And-Handsome.”

Lardo had needled the information out of Bitty the evening Gary had repaired Betsy. It hadn’t taken much, really, just half a wine cooler and a slice of peach pie and Bitty was spilling his guts.

“He’s just so tall, you know? And those shoulders, lord, and those blue eyes…” Bitty was practically swooning against his refrigerator, confessing his undying love for the stranger he had seen once at Lardo’s cooking class.

“So ask him out!” Lardo had suggested, which prompted a series of gasps and squeals from Bitty.

“And say what, exactly?! Hi – I’m creepy, you’re gorgeous, let’s date!” Bitty spluttered, laughing at the idea.

“What’s the worst he could say? No?” Lardo answered.

“Exactly!” Bitty had answered, waving a fork in Lardo’s direction.

Now, as they walked towards 3B, Bitty gave Lardo one last, pleading stare.

“I just want it to look like I’m funny!”

“But you _are_ funny, Bitty!” Lardo laughed back.

“I know _you_ think so, but I want _him_ to think so too!”

“And me pretending you just told me a hilarious joke is the way to do that,” Lardo answered with a raised eyebrow.

“I’ll bake you a pie. Flavour of your choice,” Bitty answered, all hint of a smile gone from his face.

“Deal. Pecan,” Lardo muttered, as she pushed open the door to 3B, threw her head back, and let out the most convincing howl of fake laughter Bitty had ever heard. He made a mental note to himself to make the pecan pie Lardo just ordered extra special.

To his great satisfaction, the tall stranger was right where Bitty hoped he would be, seated at his table waiting for class to start. He eyed Lardo and Bitty as they walked through the door, and Bitty was delighted, if a bit nervous, to find that his eyes were trained on Bitty, intense and impenetrable.

Bitty felt the familiar butterflies in his stomach and walked over to his table, aware that he may have even been strutting a little as he passed the tall stranger. Lardo’s barely-concealed chuckle form the front of class confirmed that he had, in fact, been strutting, and Bitty shot her a death glare from his table. He risked a sideways glance at the stranger and was relieved – if a bit disappointed – to find that, as usual, he was diligently preparing his ingredients, lining up his utensils and organizing his work station.

Bitty started laying out the ingredients he would need for Lardo’s pecan pie, and lost himself in the familiar motions of pie-making.

And just like that, as Bitty debated with himself how the tall, handsome stranger would pronounce pecan, Lardo’s voice rang out around the class, announcing that their eight weeks together had come to an end.

Bitty felt his stomach plummet. Of course, he had never actually expected anything to happen, but now that his time together with whatever-his-name-is was over, he was hit with a sudden sense of loss and disappointment. Realistically, he thought to himself, it’s not as if he was even in the same league as the fine specimen from a table over.

Bitty’s problem, though, was that he was never very good at being realistic.

He chuckled to himself and cursed the stinging he started to feel at the back of his eyes. Here he was, about to burst into tears in the middle of a community center cooking class, over a stranger he’d never actually _technically_ met. Still, he took his time packing up his baking supplies, since he had to wait for Lardo before he could leave anyways.

If he risked a few more sideways glances at Mr. Tall-and-Handsome as he packed up, well – it was a parting gift, he told himself.

 

* * *

 

 

_Jack’s palms began to sweat the moment he saw the blonde walk through the doorway into their classroom. He had evidently just said something funny to their teacher who has howling with laughter, and he wished – not for the first time – that he could have been part of their carefree conversation._

_Of course, Jack thought to himself, that was never going to happen. He was Jack Zimmermann, notorious hockey robot, on track to become captain of the Providence Falconers, son of hockey legend Bad Bob Zimmermann, and he was fine with that. As fine as he could be, really. His life was never going to be the kind of easy, carefree existence he saw the people around him living. Part of it was his own fault. He knew that he could be incredibly stoic, and hard to read, and unintentionally cold to the point where people would just write him off as rude, or mean, or elitist. Sometimes he wondered if, deep down, that’s how he actually was, or if people had been describing him that way for so long that his personality just sort of… ended up that way._

_And, of course, there were all the problems that being an NHL superstar (ESPN’s words, not his) necessarily posed. He was certain at least three other people in the class had recognized him and were likely working up the courage to ask him for an autograph. It wasn’t that he didn’t like having fans, but strangers coming up and asking him for his autograph, or a selfie, or any number of other things Jack had trouble keeping up with (what’s a vine? what is a snap chat? What does it mean when people “put me on their story?” he had once asked George) made it particularly difficult for him to lead the kind of normal life about which he found himself fantasizing more and more over the years._

_He thought, not for the first time in these last eight weeks, that he might consider trading all of that in for the kind of easygoing, relaxed life the people around him seemed to lead. And if a certain blonde stranger with a proclivity for baking pies seemed to figure at the center of that life, well, nobody else had to know._

_When Lardo’s voice echoed around him announcing that their eighth and final class was over, Jack’s heart began thumping in his chest, as if eager to betray his feelings to anyone around him. It was now or never, he realized, and chuckled, despite himself, at his penchant for melodrama. He had definitely inherited that from both of his parents._

_He didn’t have anything even remotely resembling a plan in mind. This was the polar opposite of hockey. On the ice, he knew where everything was, how his teammates would react to even the smallest signal, he knew precisely what to do at every exact moment. The only variable on the ice was the other team and, more often than not, he knew exactly what they would do, too. Jack had been playing hockey his whole life, and had spent the majority of those years eliminating variables. They made him anxious, unable to predict what would happen, and he liked to be in control. It’s probably what earned him the reputation as the Immovable Hockey Robot, but if that’s what it took for him to play good hockey, well, so be it._

_But this – this not thing that he hoped would be a thing, maybe: this was full of variables. He cleaned his cooking station meticulously, and packed up his bag much slower than was technically necessary. He was certain, now, that the blonde stranger from a table over – the variable causing all of his current anxiety – had recognized him, and was working up the courage to ask for an autograph, judging by the increasing number of sideways glances he seemed to think Jack wouldn’t notice._

_Still, that gave Jack an in: maybe it would be like a romantic comedy, and the beginning of their world-shaking love story would be Jack getting asked for his autograph._

_Or maybe it would be exactly what the Falconers PR department had been warning him about for years: he’s a single, attractive (their words, not his) millionaire, and was a perfect target for being taken advantage of. Jack had been through this his entire life, and it was one of the many reasons he had closed himself off from just about every relationship he ever wanted._

_But now, Jack realized, as the scent of pecan pie wafted over to his station, he was willing to risk all of that._

_Jack had only just finished packing up his bag when the sound of silence startled him. His internal monologue had dragged on for so long he hadn’t even realized the entire room was empty, save for him, Lardo, and the adorable blonde. Of course, he and Lardo walked in together every class, it only made sense that they walked home together as well._

_Suddenly, Jack became very aware of himself. It was obvious that both Lardo and the stranger had noticed his presence, and Jack’s anxiety skyrocketed. He felt his palms shake and the colour in his cheeks flush. He was about to abandon his entire not-a-plan plan when the stranger next to him spoke._

_“I’ll catch you at home, then, Lardo?” he asked, his voice washing over Jack._

_“Sure thing, Bitty” she answered, an incomprehensible smirk on her face._

_And just like that, Lardo vacated the room, leaving just Jack and the blonde – Bitty, he said to himself, testing the name in his mind – alone._

_Jack was certain that Bitty (what a suitably adorable name, he thought to himself) was staring at him now. He was about to get the permanent marker he usually used for autographs when Bitty spoke._

_“So… hi,” Bitty said, blushing crimson from his ears down to the nape of his neck._

_At first, Jack found himself unable to respond. It wasn’t often that he was the more socially-able person in any interaction, but it quickly became evident that he would have to take the lead in this situation._

_“Euh, let me just get my marker out, and I’ll sign whatever you like,” he mumbled out, sounding gruffer than he had originally intended._

_Bitty shifted nervously from side to side, a look of confusion spreading across his face. His brown eyes searched Jack’s face, and he wrung his fingers anxiously in front of him._

_“I’m sorry, what?” Bitty asked, blushing even deeper than before._

_“Or we can take one of those picture things,” Jack muttered, beginning to blush himself. “A selfie, I think, if an autograph is too old fashioned.”_

_Jack cursed himself, not for the first time, for being such an old man at heart._

_This, however, only made Bitty look even more confused, and bite his lower lip anxiously. Jack definitely did not notice how it made his lips red and just a little puffy, and certainly did not wonder what it would feel like to have them pressed against his._

_“I – I don’t really know what you’re talkin’ about,” Bitty answered in a Southern drawl that his nerves seemed to draw out of him._

_Jack realized, with a sense of both relief and embarrassment, that Bitty didn’t seem to recognize him at all. But how else would Jack account for all the staring?_

_He took the time to stand up straight and stare Bitty in the eyes. Bitty seemed to shrink away from Jack’s gaze, and he realized that he must have been giving Bitty his press-conference stare. He tried – and likely failed – to lighten his expression, curving his mouth into something he hoped was a smile._

_“You,” he started saying, as Bitty only stared back in confusion. “You don’t recognize me?”_

_“Um – I mean, we’ve been taking this class together for eight weeks, so of course I recognize you, but I don’t really think I was askin’ for an autograph, but if you want to give me one, I mean, I guess that’d be… well that’d be something, I suppose…” Bitty trailed off, looking at Jack with a pleading look in his eyes._

_Jack was torn between running away out of sheer embarrassment and laughing out loud. The mix of emotions must have flashed across his face because Bitty seemed to look even more confused than before._

_And then – something clicked. Variables or not, anxiety or not, fame, money, NHL, celebrity, career – none of it seemed to matter in that moment, Jack realized. His heart hammered in his chest, and he felt himself unable to stop the blush creeping down his neck, but still he broke the awkward silence._

_“Do you want to get a coffee?” Jack asked._

_He looked down at Bitty, and saw his whole face light up. His body seemed to let go of eight weeks’ worth of tension, and he saw Bitty visibly relax. A wave of relief seemed to wash over him, and he beamed back at Jack with a smile that Jack swore to himself he would try to make stay on his face for as long as he lived._

_“I’d like that,” Bitty answered as he twiddled his thumbs nervously, still grinning at Jack. “I’d like that a lot.”_

_All of Jack’s anxieties – about his life, his career, coming out – they were still there, but they seemed to matter just a little less. And the life he had previously thought was unattainable for him seemed to materialize somewhere in the back of his consciousness. Visions of a white picket fence, and two wicker rocking chairs on a porch, two dogs, a cat, and maybe even a crib or two swirled in and out of his mind’s eye._

_His life would always be his life. He was always going to be Jack Zimmermann, hockey robot – but, at least for now, he was Jack Zimmermann, man who successfully asked out the adorable blonde stranger from his community cooking class._

_He grinned, both to himself and to Bitty, who only smiled wider in response._

_Outside, they heard the muffled cry of a voice that sounded suspiciously like Lardo’s shout “get it, Bitty!” and the two of them chuckled nervously to each other._

_Jack and Bitty, Jack thought to himself with a smile as the feeling in his chest soared. He liked it._

**Author's Note:**

> This was based on a tumblr post that I read ages ago - so if you're reading this and are aware of that post, yay!
> 
> The title is adapted from the 1859 novel "The Ordeal of Richard Feverel" by George Meredith.
> 
> If you want to chat more, I'm always taking prompts over on tumblr @zimbitsdujour!


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